


Jeeves and the Bally Unsettling Fondue Caper

by preux



Series: Bertie and Jeeves: International Men of Mystery [4]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Competent!Bertie, Established Relationship, Food, M/M, Paris (City), Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/preux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About a month into their romantic relationship, Jeeves and Bertie have their first spat.  Anatole is sighted and tweeds are worn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Note on the Text

_Gentle reader,_

_You may note that the times and dates (and even geography) given in our thrilling tales are not quite accurate.  Mr. Wooster initially noticed this issue and was good enough to record our discussion of same._

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“Have you read these page whatsits? Is this what I mean?”

“I am afraid I cannot think clearly while you are wearing that leather trousering, love.”

“Never mind my leather trousering. You thought it was fine when we were in the Tyrol. Look at this story. Cast the peepers upon it. This book I said I was reading. Do I really mean this one? I am quite sure it was not written yet. Or is it another? And is there a bank next to our hotel in Zurich?”

“Are you certain that a nice tweed…”

“Leave off with the nice tweed for a moment, please Reg, this is serious. I bally well remember reading it… but look at this… I thought we biffed Anatole with that _timbale_ pan eons before Rex Stout even jotted a book. Why did we say I perused it that week?  And Zurich is nowhere near our first villa.  Why did you let me publish this?”

“Indeed, love. It does appear somewhat ‘rummy’ as you might say.”

“I know.  Why are you rubbing my thigh? Dash it, Reg! You’re still talking about my trousering. You know it hurts my feelings when you tease me like that.”

“I apologize, love.”

“Thank-y…wait a mo, Reg. Look at me. Tchah! You can’t fool me with that stuffed frog! There are limits, Reg. When two men of iron will…er, ah, oh.  Mmmm.  What are you doing? Ah. Oh.  Why are you unbuttoning that?  Ooh. Oh, that is simply topping.”

“I really am sorry I offended you.  Is that somewhat better, my love?”

“I am deeply, er, is that the patchouli oil? Ah, that is just corking, Reg. Oh, delish. Now, Reg, I must insist… ooh, that’s rather pleasing as well. Ah the pins are wobbling somewhat.”

“Ah, yes, you are correct, love, it is patchouli. Here, you may rest beside me here on the divan. Have I shown you today how deeply I love you?”

“Ah, Reg… that feels just… lovely. Oh, my…”

“Let me help slip you out of those trousers, my dearest darling.  They seem to be straining slightly.”

 

_As you can see, additional matters arose that prevented careful fact-checking, which, in any event, I find tiresome in such tales of suspense.  We do hope you enjoy our stories nevertheless.  R.J._


	2. Master and Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving their scenic Italian retreat, Bertie and Jeeves struggle with their return to being master and man. Fondue is eaten, and a deficit of snuggles occurs.

**Bertie**

Sometimes the greatest mysteries stem from the simplest things, like a _timbale_ pan.  Jeeves and I had bunged one at Anatole, my Aunt Dahlia’s chef and thought little of the matter for nearly a month afterward. Of course, that bally piece of crockery, if crockery it was, seemed like the end of an adventure, but it formed the nub of another tale.  We had been ankling about Paris, hoping to perfect our mutual understanding of each other. Instead, we had to help the blighted Stilton Cheesewright make contact with a notorious French spy known as “Dumas,” who turned out to be my Aunt Dahlia’s chef Anatole. He seems so chefly that it is hard to believe he is a spy, especially once he started giving us cooking lessons, which had not happened yet, so strike that for now.  At least our adventures allowed us to partake of a truly stunning exemplar of _filet mignon au poivre._ Delightful.

Where was I? Ah, Jeeves.  And Jeeves, who I had always thought of as a paragon of the first water, turned out to be not merely a valet, but a sort of part-time Colonel in the MI6.  They wanted him back so bally badly that they were even willing to take me along.  In fact, they wanted him back so much that they offered to take me on my own merits, and I was having a dashed hard time deducting or deducing or what have you, what my merits could possibly be. Wooster is a fair hand at golf and corking, if I do say so, with a dart, but spy material is stern stuff and although I have a will of iron, misgivings abounded.

After depositing the aforementioned _timbale_ pan with Anatole, Jeeves and I had passed a highly enjoyable few weeks alone together in a house by a small lake, well, more of a pond, really in Italy. Sadly, we could not hole up alone for the rest of the summer as we had an assignation in Geneva with some ghastly frightening cove from the MI6.  Great Caesar-looking chap with a stern air, rather like unto one that could put the fear of er, thingummy, into even the most hardened culprits.  I doubt even Aubrey Upjohn, the truly terrifying cove who chivvied us into line at Malvern House would have been able to face the Director without humming, twiddling the thumbs and fidgeting.  Thus it was that spirits were subdued on our last day together, and we spent hours curled up together in our bed, pressing as much of our bare skins together as possible for comfort and reassurance. During a lull in this activity, Jeeves spent some time kissing and caressing the Wooster bean. 

“Here love, rest against me.”

“Ah, er,” a sort of gruntled sigh passed the Wooster lips as the Jeevesian fingers massaged the scalp and the back of the neck. We shifted around so that he could lean up against our pillows and I curled around him with my head on his shoulder. I shifted again so our private bits would rub together.  Jeeves made a small sound like a startled and delighted fawn and I raised my head to look in his eyes.  We melted and shimmered a bit at each other.

“Would you like me to use some oil, love?”

 “I just… I want to smell you today, Reg, not the oil.”  I could see that he understood.  We had no idea when we could be together this way again, and I wanted to remember his peculiar scent.

He cupped the side of my face. “Please don’t be frightened, Bertie.”  I rubbed at his eyebrow, then fingered the ring he wore around his neck, the ring I had given him when he agreed to hook the pinkies for life. The bean still whirled, unable to fully grasp the fact that I had done better than winning the sweep at Monte Carlo.

“Aren’t you, Reg?”

He considered this. “Normally you would be too gentlemanly to point that out, love.” His face exuded the warm glow that meant he was deeply pleased by something I had done. He tousled the Wooster locks, another sign that his heart was melting about the edges.  I leaned into his touch and pleased noised issued forth from the Wooster throat. “Your hair is getting long, darling.  Should we find a barber?”

I shifted the corpus against him again. The Jeevesian lips parted as his pupils dilated. “No changing the topic, Reg. I have been doing all manner of ungentlemanly things with you for weeks, and you haven’t complained before.”

“I’m not complaining now, my own love.” I could feel his breath accelerate as I bent to kiss his throat.  “And, if I may correct you, Bertie, you have never been the slightest bit ungentlemanly in your affectionate conduct. I feel deeply honored to share myself with you.”

I blushed and dropped my head, then I shifted again and he met me with a press of his own hips. “May I examine your credentials?”

“Let’s be more serious today, love, but, yes, you may examine me however you like.” He shifted to reach for the drawer where we kept our special oils and pulled out a small tin. I looked up and started to open my mouth to protest.  “I found something without a scent in Paris, love.”  He pressed my head back down on his shoulder so our skins met, and we rubbed together again.

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“I love you, heart’s delight…ah, you’re leaking a bit.”  He always did when I called him a tender name. Bally endearing.

“It’s no matter, darling. I love you, too.”

I took the tin from his paw and set it aside for the nonce as it seemed fitting that tender kisses should be liberally disposed about various portions of the Jeevesian corpus, starting with the tears trickling down his cheeks.

 

**Jeeves**

Three weeks alone with Mr. Wooster proved to be a much-needed balm for my wounded spirit. We had to leave our idyllic retreat and enter MI6 investigations as a very serious matter had been brought to our attention by the spy known as “Dumas.” It transpires that he is also M. Anatole, who cooks for Mr. Wooster’s aunt, Mrs. Travers.  My first commander, whom I had believed killed in battle, was perhaps alive and at large, operating as “the Wolf.”  A further complication was the determination of the Director to enlist Mr. Wooster and me as MI6 agents.  We had an appointment to meet him in Switzerland, and we also planned to examine the contents of two safe deposit boxes.  Despite our anxieties, we were well-prepared for the meeting.

Mr. Wooster had always been reasonably fit and active, but our time in Italy had wrought a profound change in him.  We had begun doing Swedish exercises each morning and his physique, which had always, to my mind, been exceptionally attractive, had become firmer and tauter. He was sleeping less and eating more as his muscles gained definition. At my suggestion, he had started practicing with knives in addition to darts and the piano.  I was impressed by his quiet concentration and attention as well as by his increased tendency to rest quietly rather than fidgeting and chattering continually.  And, perhaps because of the many hours we spent curled up together unclothed or half clothed, he had not jumped or flailed or started in over a week.

On our last day alone together, he proved again what a courteous and gentle lover he could be, laying me gently down on the bed and pressing his lips all over my body in the most tenderly intimate manner while uttering the most moving endearments, then using his tongue in ways I had not imagined it could be used. I went limp under his attentions and fell instantly asleep after the most convulsive climax I had ever experienced.  I woke some time later to find him looking immensely pleased with the world as he nestled me tenderly in his arms and showered me with affection.  We kissed for several minutes and then rubbed each other thoroughly with various unguents. Then I took the opportunity to satisfy him before we snuggled together and fell asleep.

 

**Bertie**

We biffed off to Switzerland in subdued spirits.  Jeeves had decided that we should take separate rooms there given the legal situation, and Wooster complied grudgingly and in a beastly humor.  Said b. h. caused me great pain as it prompted W. to insist, in public, that we eat fondue for dinner, and not the lovely soufflé-like fondues Anatole makes, but the great pot of melted cheese and wine with bread, which is all well and good in moderation but not in vast quantities. Jeeves mildly indicated that fondue was not always kind to the W. insides, but I remained unwisely firm and he demurred, as he had to, as we were in public and he was dressed in his valet uniform. Therefore I had to eat the whole pot in order to prove my point. Looking back, I cannot believe I acted like such a deuced prat to him.

Fondue is beastly stuff if not done properly, and the Wooster belly was bally unsettled by a heavy sticky mass of cheese and bread that seemed determined never to be dislodged. Jeeves calmly downed vast gobbets of the stuff and looked perfectly fine afterward, and he patiently supported me into a cab while I reeled on the pins, all the while protesting that I was corking. It had been many weeks since Jeeves and I had had such an unpleasant exchange and it ended as usual. He relented in the face of my self-inflicted misery and bestowed kind and patient treatment upon Bertram, followed by B. recognizing the error of his ways and apologizing abjectly.

The Swiss hotel was pleasant enough and I would have thought it quite topping only a few weeks prior, but the current mood was one of bereftitude of the Jeevesian presence at a time when I was in sore need of comfort and, er, well, snuggles, dash it. Sleep eluded Bertram that night and the hope was that business could be completed quickly so a return could be effected to Paris, where we would take a flat for some weeks.  Apparently, Jeeves felt much the same way as he had me up and dressed well before my usual hour.  He touched the dark circles under my eyes but did not comment on them, although he held and kissed me tenderly before depositing the corpus into the bath.

We hied toward a modest-looking restaurant, where we found a large cove with a head like unto one of those broken but still bally imposing Roman statues one sees in the moderately boring class of museum. “Ah, Jeeves. Wooster. Sit down.” He gave me a sharpish look and I slipped off the chair and dropped my whangee. Jeeves helped me up and brushed off the green with faint grey twill. We sat down without further incident. The Director gave me another sharpish look that indicated he found my mental capacities to be negligible and turned to Jeeves.

“Colonel.”

“Director.”

“I trust you are prepared for today’s meeting?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well.  Please enumerate your conditions.”

Jeeves cleared his throat and glanced at me. “I will not be separated from Mr. Wooster as long as he requires a valet.”

“We can take steps,” said the Director, giving me the sort of look that Aubrey Upjohn reserved for the more unpleasant sort of creeping insect.  The wad of fondue and cheese threatened to make a most unwelcome reappearance.

The Jeevesian tone took on a glacial quality. “You will not threaten Mr. Wooster.”  The place grew so icy I was surprised that none of those wooly mammoths started biffing about the place bellowing and poking chaps with those vast curved tusks.

The Director was gobsmacked, as evidenced by his lips going a bit soft at one corner. “I hardly think…” Jeeves went totally still, and the Director held up an appeasing hand and produced a document.  “Please review this, Jeeves.  It may answer.”

“Thank-you, Director Greystone.”

We waited to be dismissed.  The Director shifted and gave me a rummy look.  “There is an issue with Dumas.”

Jeeves paused. “I do not understand you, Director.”

“We need some information from Dumas.  He has sent another message to MI6 indicating his refusal to speak with anyone except your Mr. Wooster here.  He is in Paris and would like to meet you there in three days.  I strongly suspect that you know who he might be.”

“Ah.” Jeeves put on his porcelain frog face, which is the one where he feels rather smug.  Most people think it is just the stuffed frog, but long association has shown me the difference. “Yes, who he might be, but perhaps not who he is.”

The Director raised an eyebrow and cast a highly disapproving eye at Wooster.  Feeling like a particularly insignificant sort of sluggy creature, I struggled against the urge to cringe and crawl into Jeeves’ pocket for safety. “We have offered him a position on his own merits, such as they are.”  He made it sound as if Bertram was a trained monkey of the less talented sort.  A lesser man might have lost composure under such treatment, but Woosters are made of sterner stuff and I maintained an appearance of sangfroid. “It would be a boost to the department if you came onto more active status, Jeeves.”

“We will review your offer and make contact with this Dumas. Will that be all, Director?”

A weird sort of glazed look came over the Director’s vast, Caesarlike lemon and he shook himself. The intestines curled upon themselves as though spelling out the word ‘danger.’ “Jeeves, I hope you realize that you have nothing to fear from me.”

“And I do believe you personally, sir,” said Jeeves.

The Director’s peepers took on a sad tinge.  “You may go.  We will be in contact.”

We beat the hastiest possible retreat that seemed not terribly impolite on the Jeevesian part or cowardly on Wooster’s.

 

**Jeeves**

I had not anticipated the deep feelings of grief I would experience on leaving our peaceful retreat and reentering a world where we had to pose as master and man. Mr. Wooster reacted to his discomfort by blustering and bossing in a most unattractively petulant way. He hurt my feelings so deeply by his imperious conduct that I actually allowed him to eat himself sick on subpar fondue. Only as I helped him into a cab, did I realize why he had been behaving so foolishly. Although he did not mention the circumstance, I felt certain that Mr. Wooster did not sleep during our first night in Geneva and his state was quite pitiable by morning. I was determined to get him to France as quickly as possible. Thus, after our meeting with the Director, we visited two banks, hoping to clear up our business matters and depart that evening. 

At the first bank, Mr. Wooster surprised me. I was handling his transactions as he felt uncomfortable dealing with business matters in French. “Tell them that we need to open a new account for both of us.”

“Sir?”

“I want you to have access to the funds in case you need them for anything I might ask you to do.” I dearly wished we could be alone to discuss this matter privately. He grew somewhat stern. “Jeeves, given the agreement we made in Paris, I really must insist that you be provided for in this matter.  I cannot be worried that you will have insufficient funds to attend to things as you ought.” With great difficulty, I managed not to grasp him in my arms at this further sign of his intention to maintain our romantic arrangement permanently, and convinced the banking staff to comply with Mr. Wooster’s request. We opened a bank account together.  Although we have long since moved our funds, I retain the booklet to this day.

Mr. Wooster’s uncle, Lord Yaxley, had given him a key for a safe deposit box at another bank.  We were highly perplexed by its contents: a _timbale_ pan and a modest quantity of money in various currencies, which, judging by their dates, had been in storage for quite some time.  We took the contents of the box and when we went to close the paperwork, found something surprising.

“There is an account associated with this box, sir.”

Mr. Wooster looked mildly perplexed.  “Why would Uncle George or Father have opened an account in this bank?  We always used Barclay’s.”

“The account is numbered, but the instructions were to inform you of its existence.  It appears to have been opened by your late father with the idea that you might need it in future endeavors, sir.”

Mr. Wooster started, dropping the _timbale_ pan on the floor, where it popped open, revealing that it was two pans nested together.  I picked it up before anyone could see the contents. “My father?” Mr. Wooster’s late father had been a spy before his untimely death and neither Mr. Wooster nor I knew the circumstances of the latter.  When we examined the account records, we were stunned by the amount of money that had accumulated after an initial modest deposit.  Small deposits had been added at regular intervals over the course of the preceding twenty years and no moneys had ever been withdrawn. The number of such deposits declined sharply at about the time of the elder Mr. Wooster’s death, but it seemed that small semiannual payments were still being made to the account from a source in Paris. The last payment had been made two days after Mr. Wooster and I had dined with M. Anatole.  I strongly suspected that if we were to consider the payments against M. Anatole’s personal holidays that there would be a not inconsiderable overlap.

“This is somewhat unaccountable, sir.”

“I agree with you fully and wholeheartedly, Jeeves.”  Mr. Wooster pondered for a moment. “Perhaps we should wend our way thither post haste.”

“I agree, sir.”  We collected adequate information to have Mr. Wooster’s solicitors handle matters, picked up our bags from the hotel and returned to France, forgetting about the other safe deposit box entirely.  In after years, I would realize that I simply did not want to think about a former lover—for that was the source of the other key—on the day Mr. Wooster and I took the step of sharing a bank account.  As it happens, the omission was fortuitous, but I do sometimes wonder at the depths of my own sentimentality.


	3. Fusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anatole pays a visit to Paris. Bertie and Jeeves make up after a tiff.

**Bertie**

Once we crossed over into France, Jeeves lightly touched the dark circles under my peepers and insisted that we take a hotel in the first major town we came to so that I could rest. He was straining like an overeager racehorse to read that document the Director gave him and see what was hidden in the _timbale_ pan, but his first action after getting us into the hotel and arranging to have select viands bunged upon a cart and sallied hither, was to infiltrate the divan whereupon was sprawled Wooster and thenceforth to wrap the willowy form in a close embrace. The tension drained from him as we pressed our suit-covered bodies together. “I have been so used to be able to touch you whenever I want,” he whispered, kissing the golden pate. “Will you rest after we eat?” W. shifted to sit up and he let go. “Love?  Is something troubling you?”

Something was troubling me.  To wit: what did he really think of me? When Jeeves was merely the paragon among valets, it had not been so deuced difficult to imagine why he would stay with me, what with the feudal spirit and all.  But now?  What could Bertram really offer a specimen so corkingly brilliant and wise and utterly toppingly gorgeous as Reginald Jeeves?  It was a bally deep mystery, deeper than any of the other weird circs flapping about the place like bally large bats. The voice wobbled. “Reg, do you really want me with you? Aren’t you embarrassed that that Director chappie thinks I am so… mentally negligible?”

Jeeves froze. “Mentally negligible?… Oh dear.” He went absolutely white, like a pillar of salt in a tweed suit. “Did you hear me say that?”

I hung the Wooster head. “It stung, Reg.”

“And you never forgot it.” He murmured. “Oh, Bertie.  I never meant… I do apologize, most sincerely. It…may I explain? I am terribly, terribly sorry.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Love, you do have a strong reputation for fishing people out of trouble.”

“I do?  I thought Wooster had a strong reputation for getting help from Jeeves, the real brain about the place.”

Jeeves wrung his hands in his lap in a most un-Jeevesian manner. “Among your friends and associates, perhaps. Things appear very differently below stairs, love. I, Bertie, I had to explain how you might seem to your temporary valets to ensure your comfort and also because it is required by my membership in the Junior Ganymede club. Most of the other valets simply cannot understand the way you speak. In addition, it served as a warning to them not to try to take advantage of you, as I was on my guard. But, I… I am so ashamed. I also wanted to ensure that you would not prefer any other valet to me. It was manipulative.” He looked in every way miserable. Normally the melting sensation that resulted in the Wooster breast would have prompted an effusion of warm affection, but Bertram was tired to death and somewhat churlishly preoccupied with self.

The willowy form curled over on itself. “But Reg, do you think I am mentally negligible?”

“No, love.” He reached out as if to touch me and then pulled back. “Would it be taking a liberty…would you permit me to comfort you?” I felt a sudden sinking in the stomach—how would we ever be able to be really together with so much to struggle through? We had been almost like one person just two days ago and now we were afraid to touch each other.  All the old reserve we had felt as master and man was rearing up like a dyspeptic cobra and ruining our fusion of soul.

I levered up, and I could feel the face working. “I do not understand, Reg.  How could I have merits? And why does the Director…”  I struggled on and asked the question that really troubled me. “Do you think me intelligent?”

The Jeevsian visage softened at the plaintive weariness in the Wooster tone. “Yes, love. It has been such a comfort these past weeks to be able to rely on your advice and help. And you are so brave and honorable that it often shames me.  I believe the Director is merely angry because I will not leave you.” He reached out again and pulled back again.

The bean throbbed with lack of sleep and unaccustomed mental activity and the aftereffects of the bally unsettling fondue, but I was reassured by the gentle tone of his voice. He had always been a source of comfort to me, I realized, even when we had been simply master and man. My life always went awry when I could not have his advice and sympathy.  I crawled up into the Jeevesian lap, tucking the willowy form snugly against him and inserting the golden pate beneath his chin.  At first he held his arms out and away from me as if afraid he might break some highly precious object, and the knotted sensation in my breast eased somewhat as I realized that the h. p. o. he was afraid of harming was, in fact, one Bertram Wilberforce Wooster. I sighed at the welcome sensation of his arms folding tenderly over the slender form and I nestled more closely against him. I had forgotten how wonderful it felt to snuggle against him fully clothed. “Are you ever embarrassed by me?”

He nuzzled my hair. “Thank-you, darling.  This is most welcome. Please do not fear my opinion of you. Although I would strongly prefer it if you would let me get rid of that flowing garment.”

“But I do so like it.”

He gave a little huff of fond amusement and held me closer against him.  It was delightful after the long day and night of separation. “I know you do, love. I do apologize again for saying that. I am very deeply ashamed of myself.”

“I am too tired and frightened to talk about that now, Reg. That Director cove frightens me, Reg, bally frightens me.  I feel like a dimwitted baboon when he is near.”

“I can see that, love and it makes me uneasy as well.  He was very kind to me when I was young, but your instincts mean a great deal.”

“I didn’t know about that chap and his wife who stole Aunt Agatha’s pearls.”

“You recoiled from them reflexively, love, as I recall.  Your Aunt forced you into daily contact with them, which was a great help in effecting their capture.  I mentioned your work in my report.”

The awful day I was forced to ride a bicycle nine miles and then look at knapped flints rose up like that Banquet? er, Banquo—that’s the one—fellow one is forced to read about and commenced wailing in the Wooster memory. “Did you really order us a hamper and bring me to the races just so I could escape?”

A sigh wracked the Jeevesian visage. “No, Bertie.  I knew it was Soapy Sid and that I had a duty to try and effect his capture.  I tried to ensure that you had a pleasant day, however.”

“It was most pleasant, indeed.  I do so enjoy having a day to spend just with you, you know. I always have.”  I wriggled against him, enjoying the warmth of his body against mine. “And I did suspect that you wanted a day at the races yourself. Now I feel rather embarrassed that I thought you had such selfish motives.” A strange vibration shook the Jeevsian form and then another. I untucked self from beneath the chin to commence investigations into the matter and found that he was choking back a sob. I gently eased him into the willowy embrace and stroked his hair. He calmed almost instantly. “What is troubling you, Reg?”

“I am so selfishly unworthy of your good regard. And I may have brought such trouble down on you.”

I could not very well tell him that he was wrong about the trouble, because I was deuced terrified of that Director cove, but I could tell him some important truths. Besides, if we wanted me with him, there was nothing for it but to exhibit the stiff upper lip. “Please do not be distressed, Reg. I am quite ashamed of much of my behavior in those days as well, not to mention my churlish insistence on stowing down that fondue last night. I was pipped with you about the hotel, and I should have apologized before now. I do hope you can forgive the obnoxious way I spoke to you.  But I cannot possibly live without you, Reg. My days are empty when they do not begin and end with your calming presence. I never feel as safe and happy as when I am with you.”

A knock at the door interrupted us. At my insistence, Jeeves scarpered to the bathroom, to hide the evidence of his distress, as much as he could be said to s. His posture was perfect and he biffed along without touching the ground or making a noise. I accepted our meals, which took a great deal longer than I had imagined it would. The staff fussed about with my things and bunged Jeeves’s dinner down somewhat less ceremoniously in his room.  At first I was annoyed with them, but then I realized that his plates were simply much heavier than mine.  Jeeves slipped back into the room in his dressing gown and pajamas, his hair tousled and damp.

“However do you bathe so quickly, Reg?”

“Practice,” he said, kissing the damask cheek and giving the willowy a form a much-needed hug. “I never feel as safe and happy as when I am with you, either, love.”

We settled down to stow the viands. Jeeves had been brought up below stairs and his people were sturdy middle-class stock and thus he had a taste for homely and hearty meals when he was feeling distressed. I was always curious about his preferences and would have asked to sample his plates, but the Wooster system remained bally unsettled by that fondue. I drank my soup and poked listlessly my _paillards_ like a meek W. and Jeeves let me rest my head in his lap while he finished his own meal. He rested his hand on my shoulder between bites, and I felt as if I had arrived home after a long and treacherous journey.

“It was a very difficult day, was it not, Reg?”

“Yes, love.”  He stroked my hair and I made an appreciative noise.

“Will you help me with my bath when you’re done?”

“I can start the water now if you wish it.”

“Ah, well I can… I mean, er, well, _help_ me. You know, Reg, like you did that time in Paris. Do you remember how simply topping that was?” The Jeevesian ears turned pink and his corpus quivered as the Wooster tone grew wistful. He set down his fork and covered his half-full plate, shifting to adjust his pajamas.

“I will start the water now, darling.”

“I didn’t intend to interrupt your meal.”

“I find that I am no longer hungry.” He shimmered out from under the Wooster bean and oozed to the bath, and the sound of running water, like unto the fountain of some famed person or other, floated out.  I was just prying the willowy form from the cushions when he trickled back in wearing only his pajama bottoms and helped me up. “Would you allow me to disrobe you?”

I felt a stir in the green with faint grey twill. “Will you bare the willowy corpus slowly and tenderly?”

The Jeevesian breath quickened. “Yes, love.”

I wriggled delightedly like an overexcited newt. “Please, Reg. That sounds delightful.”  It was bally fabulous, and then we climbed into the bath.

 

**Jeeves**

I still cringe with mortification when I think of the moment I heard the words ‘mentally negligible’ pass Mr. Wooster’s lips. It had been a circumstance some years earlier, when I was training a replacement valet and I had unwisely left the kitchen door open.  My habit at the time was to mention that Mr. Wooster was kind and generous but might appear mentally negligible.  He is not truly such, of course, but most valets simply cannot understand his peculiar argot, and they find it simpler to believe him a fool than to try to follow his half-completed literary allusions and mixed metaphors.  In former times, such a misunderstanding would have caused weeks of coolness between us. Since we had commenced our romantic relationship, such misunderstandings had become considerably less protracted, but I found them much more emotionally jarring. We spoke of our feelings, apologized and then renewed our affections in a most pleasing manner.

Mr. Wooster is a sweetly affectionate and charmingly enthusiastic lover, but I had never experienced his attentions after a genuine coldness. They were especially delightful. He suggested that we bathe each other and responded with eager excitement when I offered to disrobe him. I had forgotten how deeply pleasurable it was to peel away the layers of clothing while Mr. Wooster expressed his deep enjoyment of my touch. He allowed me to lead him into his bedroom, where I slowly removed his outer clothing.  We gazed into each other’s eyes as I unbuttoned his waistcoat and then his shirt and trousers, and I paused frequently to kiss his luscious mouth and run my hands through his hair and over his partly clothed form.

“I love you, Reg.” Mr. Wooster’s breath sounded almost harsh as he lovingly caressed my bare chest and back or cupped by bottom in his firm but gentle grasp. I removed his undershirt and he ran his fingers through my hair while I kissed his shapely neck.

“And I you, beloved darling.” As I bared his chest, I longed to take him into my arms and press him against me, but feared I would not be able to control myself. When he was wearing only his undershorts, I led him into the bathroom and slowly bared him, caressing him through and under the thin fabric. 

He groaned and threw his head back in the most delightful manner, and then eagerly divested me of my straining pajama bottoms.  “You are so beautiful, Reg.” I had not blushed for weeks, but I could feel the deep ruddy color suffusing my cheeks as he surveyed my naked form.

We then disposed ourselves in the bath, where we washed each other lingeringly, enjoying the feel of our slippery naked skins against each other. As we became more aroused again, I rinsed my hands. “Would you like to go into the bedroom, love?”

“Can we make spoons?”  I lost my breath for a moment and Mr. Wooster misunderstood my hesitation.  “You know, Reg, that time when we…”

I pulled myself together, and answered in a husky tone. “Of course.” We dried each other and Mr. Wooster eagerly rummaged in our bag for unguents.  I cupped his bare bottom in a hand as I leaned over to help him and he leaned into my palm.

“Ah, Reg, that feels bally wonderful.  We should get dressed more often just for this.”

I chuckled at him and took the small jar he chose and led him into my bed.  “Lie down, love.” He lay on his side, then I curled up behind him. I took his ‘private bits’ as he called them, in one hand, curling the other arm around him beneath the pillows. He moaned in delight as I stroked his most sensitive regions. “You are exquisite, darling.” I murmured into his ear. He became more excited and I held him closely against me as he climaxed, gasping my name in the most moving fashion and clasping my hand. I kissed his neck and nibbled his ear while he lay, trembling, in my arms.  We paused so he could catch his breath before he turned to kiss me deeply and bring me to my own completion.  We dozed off, and Mr. Wooster woke first.

I opened my eyes to find him looking highly concerned. “Reg, I need a wash.” He said, looking at himself and peering under the covers to look at my lower body. “As do you, old bean.”

I burst out laughing and gathered him against my chest.  “You are such a delight, Bertie. I do not think I could ever find a way to show you enough affection.”

He snuggled against me, grinning. “Can we try?”

“Would you like that wash now, love?”

“Oh yes.  Then may we have a gasper and a b and s?”

“Of course.”

 

**Bertie**

Two days later, we found Anatole in a simple bistro and a foul mood. Apparently, he prefers places where he can get a nice flambé.  Jeeves and I were appre-thingummy about meeting in that particular bistro since someone had bunged a knife at us the last time we ate there.  Jeeves had insisted that we wear our close-fitting stealth outfits. I had a dark beret to cover my light hair.  We had climbed out of the window of our hotel room and flitted from roof to roof before scaling down and making our way through the back alleys.  Jevves had kept me where he could catch me throughout the adventure.  I’d felt reassured but a bit embarrassed by his solicitude.

All manner of spies had gathered, and Jeeves and I were far from the only ones attired for an evening of scaling walls and effecting entry by stealth. As before, I found the _entrecote marchand_ to be highly acceptable and Jeeves took the _canard_. Between the bally fondue and the anxiety, I had not had a square meal in some days, and the hours of climbing had finally given me an appetite. Jeeves was displeased, and highly so, by the document that Director cove gave him. He refused to show it to me, and I suspected that it said some highly unflattering things about Wooster’s mental capacity and issued a few ripe threats.

“Mr. Wooster,” Anatole shook off his ire to greet me. “Reginald. It is good to see you.”

“M. Anatole.” We ate a pleasant meal and Anatole offered to teach us how to make a _timbale._  We even managed to have a gasper each and no one bunged any knives at anyone else. Jeeves kept up the professional face, but I could feel him quiver with excitement at the thought of learning to cook such a bally topping dish.  Finally, Anatole rifled in his pocket and produced a _timbale_ pan.

“I think maybe you have one for me also?  From your father? From Geneva?”

Jeeves and I exchanged a glance.  The pans we’d taken from the safe deposit box had contained a slip of paper reading “ _ris de veau toulousaine”_ which made bally little sense.  Of course, these _timbales_ are the special ones Anatole always makes when I visit Brinkley Court. Delicious. It is deuced hard to be in an unhappy state after eating one, even if being pursued by Stilton Cheesewright in a spine-breaking temper.  We forked the _timbale_ over, then Anatole checked the slip of paper. He crumpled it up in his hand and gave me a very sad look.

“Mr. Wooster, you are a very good young man.  I am sorry for the trouble you will be finding. Also, I am sorry that I threw that knife so close to you.  I was trying to frighten this friend of Reginald’s.  I am very glad you are being so quick.”  Apparently the fellow had pipped Anatole rather frightfully.  He stood up and pressed the Wooster shoulder warmly, then turned to Jeeves.  “When you come to Brinkley Court, I will show you how to use the knives. You be taking care of your gentleman, Reginald.  You do what this says and then you come to see me in the winter.”

“Of course, M. Anatole.”

We biffed off to our hotel. As we scaled the side of a block of flats, I caught sight of the Jeevesian visage in the moonlight.  He looked like a large-brained chap who was out of ideas, and he touched his pocket, the one where he had slipped the letter from the Director when he thought I wasn’t looking.  Perhaps I could offer a warm shoulder.

 

**Jeeves**

The Director had made Mr. Wooster and I an excellent, in fact a suspiciously excellent, offer as part-time MI6 agents. He had also enclosed a memo from a highly classified office, naming me as the successor to that division.  The circumstance filled me with dread and I was unable to bring myself to share the information with Mr. Wooster until I collected myself, which took some days. 

Our meeting with M. Anatole was brief, but it illustrated that some connection had existed between Mr. Wooster’s late father and our friend from Brinkley Court.  The message we had given Anatole upset him deeply.  It seemed to have something to do with Mr. Wooster, but time would be needed to unravel that mystery. 

We returned to our suite by a circuitous route, stopping for messages at another hotel along the way. Someone had left us a violet-colored felt beret.  Mr. Wooster paled when he saw the item but said nothing more about it until we reached the privacy of our room.  I expected him to crawl into my arms or push me to the floor as soon as we had closed the window, but instead he pulled apart the _timbale_ pan M. Anatole had given us and removed a slip of paper. “Seek the Wolf. Evian. October.”

“Rummy,” said Mr. Wooster, handing me the paper and setting his hand at the small of my back.

“Indeed, love.”

Mr. Wooster took my hand and brought me to the divan. We sat, and he took my other hand as well. He looked into my eyes, his darling face creasing with concern.  “Reg, please tell me what has been upsetting you. How can I help you?” I could not believe my good fortune in attaching him. It was a great relief to share the burden and have a fresh opinion on these matters.

“The MI6 has made a suspiciously favorable offer, Bertie, and there is this.  Please read it.”  I handed him the memo and he read it, then paused and read it again.

“This seems rummy, Reg. Why would you head an office of spies?”

“It is most distressing, love, as I do not want to. I would really prefer to remain with you as your valet and watch you enjoy your life.”  Mr. Wooster seemed to swell with some emotion.  “I do not want to draw you into this danger.  It is most distressing.”

We sat for some moments, gathering our thoughts.  “Perhaps I should practice more with the knives, Reg.”

“I think we will have to do more than that, darling.”

“Will we go to Evian?”

“Yes, we will, love. But before that we will have to reenter society.”

“Might we spend some days together naked first?”

“Yes, love, I believe we might, but I think it would be more beneficial to take a flat for some weeks and be seen to go about our normal business. Wouldn’t you like to have some clothing made and attend your club and have some time away from these troubling matters?  We can spend time together as we normally would.”

Mr. Wooster leaned over to stroke the side of my face. “I do so love you, Reg.”

“And I love you, darling.”

Mr. Wooster grinned mischievously and wiggled his eyebrows. “Might we spend the evening together naked, at least?” He asked in a wheedling voice, then he winked. I smothered a burst of laughter, but Mr. Wooster grinned widely and we were soon laughing helplessly in each other’s arms.  After we regained control of ourselves, Mr. Wooster ran his thumb along my lower lip and I found myself trembling at the intensity in his gaze. “Now Reg,” he said softly. “You know I cannot resist the sight of you in those close-fitting trousers. I am going to peel off your clothes and then kiss you all over.  Would you like to do that here or in the bedroom?”

We rarely spoke so frankly about such matters, and this was the first time Mr. Wooster had ever been this direct with me about his intentions. I flushed deeply and looked away. “Love, I…”

Mr. Wooster’s expression softened at my response. He leaned closer to kiss me and rubbed the back of my head. Then he whispered in my ear “Please don’t be alarmed. You know I’ll be gentle if you like it, and we can dim the lights if you feel shy. Here or in the bedroom?”

“Might we wash first?” I asked tremulously.

He smiled and kissed me. “You definitely are the brains of the operation, Reg.  Let us start in the bath.” He moved to stand up, losing his balance and righting himself, then tugged my hands until I rose.  “Come along and let me tend to you for a change. It’s no use blushing.  Bally endearing, of course, but no use.”

Later, Mr. Wooster left me snarled naked in a tangle of sheets while he pulled on his pajamas and dressing gown to receive our dinner cart. I heard him insisting that they not enter.  He carefully locked the door and put a chair in front of it, then wheeled the cart into the bedroom.  I sat up and reached for my own dressing gown, but he caught my hand.

“Reg, please don’t. I want to look at you.”

“Bertie…”

He gently tugged the sheet away from my lower body. “You are so beautifully made.”

I flushed and reached out for him and he came into my arms and kissed me deeply and passionately. “Will you get undressed, too, love?” I asked breathlessly, feeling the evidence of my arousal as he brushed against me in his silk pajamas.

Mr. Wooster stroked the side of my face and watched my phallus thoughtfully as it responded to his closeness.  I rested my head against him and breathed in his musky smell.  He reached down to stroke me tenderly. I struggled for breath and closed my eyes as a low moan escaped my lips. He let his dressing gown fall to the floor. “Not quite yet. I think I’d like to see if there is a way to show you enough affection first.  You see to me so bally kindly, and I want you to understand how utterly topping that feels.” He crawled into my lap and pushed me gently back onto the bed.  “Unless you’re hungry?”

I gasped as his silk pajamas brushed against my bare skin.  “Not for food, love.”

He fingered the ring that hung around a chain on my neck. “You are simply breathtaking, Reg. How was I so lucky as to have won you?”

“I think it was my good fortune, in fact, love.”  We twined together on the bed and kissed deeply, knowing that we would have to put on our public faces again, but thankful that we had no immediate appointments or concerns to draw our attention away from our increasing fusion of soul.


End file.
